


Relay Games

by Some_Writer



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Interspecies Relationship(s), Mass Effect 3, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24408964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Some_Writer/pseuds/Some_Writer
Summary: Garrus and Shepard take a swing at some First Contact War roleplay.Excerpt:‘Stay inside, stay inside,’he inwardly chanted. An assortment of thoughts ran through his head, anything to distract from her encroaching fingers-- firing algorithms, the Thanix cannon, Executor Pallin-- there that did it, thank the spirits.Garrus opened his eyes, unsure of when he’d shut them, and found Shepard beaming. It certainly wasn’t the look of some hardened Alliance interrogator, but perhaps at this moment it wasn’t supposed to be.
Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Comments: 22
Kudos: 69





	Relay Games

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blueboxness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueboxness/gifts).



> A birthday gift to a very good friend. Happy birthday, [Blu!](https://blueboxness.tumblr.com/)  
>  **My wonderful beta readers:**  
> [shretl (Girlundone)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/girlundone/pseuds/shretl)  
> [Marie_Fanwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Fanwriter).  
> 

Shepard certainly took him to interesting places. Always has. Granted, most of those adventures involved a lot of running and shooting, and admittedly that bled into their recreational time. If they weren’t firing at Reaper forces, they were shooting targets in the _Normandy’s_ cargo hold followed by bouts of sparring which… sometimes turned into other forms of physical exertion.

Whether they were pinning each other to the mat or mattress, there was synchrony to their movements that Garrus had never found before. Almost mathematical in execution. Garrus knew when Shepard needed coverage to reload based on her Widow’s bark, and she knew when he was uncomfortable with the positioning of his sniper perch. He knew that he could loosen the tight line of her squared shoulders by merely running a talon over the back of her hand. In turn, she knew that she needed only to bump his shoulder with hers to slacken his mandibles when they were pinched to his face with stress.

So when the day came to ask if she was ready to be a ‘one turian kind of woman’, what better place than the top of the Presidium to shoot some bottles? And while there wasn’t much running involved, it still wasn’t without some physical exertion in the cab ride home… and then again back in her quarters… and then later during the thirty-minute pre-flight check. 

Garrus was familiar with Shepard’s body before that day, and she with his, but there was always more to learn and more to explore. They didn’t always have much in the way of free time, and often their nights were spent doing little more than sleeping if they were able, but running the occasional covert extranet search for new positions to try with your human girlfriend were certainly a nice change from the daily death toll. 

Unsurprisingly, most search results appeared with no less than five recommendations for some explicit Relay 314 parody. By now, they were used to it, even reaching a point in which they had stopped snickering every time before casually swiping away. So, during a quiet moment of valuable free time, curled up on the bed with their heads together to share his omni-tool interface, he was mildly surprised when Shepard asked: “Want to try it?”

“Which one?”

Shepard ran a finger up the holo-screen, scrolling the results back through what Garrus had skipped, stopping over a video titled Firxxxt Contact Interrogation. It involved the usual suspects, some turian and human actor, each with bodily proportions that required some surgery to achieve. Spirits, the turian’s plates practically gave off their own glow from the thumbnail alone. No way were those natural. 

Garrus quirked a mandible. “This?” He clicked the video and allowed it to play, opening a scene of a turian soldier pacing slowly back and forth before a restrained human in a phony Alliance uniform. The room looked like a mock-up of a jail cell with plain gray walls and no decor.

_“You’ll tell me why your platoon was in that base, little human!”_

_“I’ll never talk!”_

Shepard offered a one-shouldered shrug. “Why not?”

“It’s a little…” Garrus trailed off as the turian in the video grabbed the human’s chin. 

_“Oh, you’ll not only talk, I’ll make you scream for me.”_

_“Never!”_

“What’s the human phrase?” Garrus glanced at Shepard. “Cheesy?” 

“It’s a lot cheesy.” Shepard grinned and shifted to fold her legs beneath her. “But it might be fun.” 

“It’s not the fun I’m worried about.”

“Embarrassment?” 

“For you maybe,” Garrus countered. “We both know you won’t be able to keep a straight face.”

“Me?” Shepard scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Please, my poker face has emptied James’ wallet so many times he won’t play me anymore. Ask him.” Then her smirk faded, and her eyebrows knitted. “Unless you’re not comfortable with it? I understand if you’re not.” 

Garrus bumped his brow lightly against Shepard’s, dragging the smile back out. “Never uncomfortable,” he repeated the words he had told her… spirits, it had been at least a year ago now. “Maybe a _little_ embarrassed.” 

Shepard huffed a breath of laughter, the minty scent of her toothpaste tickling his nose. “Okay, me too, but I’m willing if you are.” 

Garrus glanced at the video, just as the on-screen turian dragged their tongue along the human captive’s throat, eliciting a moan and a breathy: _“I’ll… never talk.”_

“Two conditions.”

“Let’s hear ‘em,” Shepard prompted.

“You’re the interrogator.”

The smile that grew on Shepard’s face was definitely what Garrus would call predatory. She shifted to the balls of her feet, reminding Garrus of _shatha_ ready to pounce. “I can do that. And the second?” 

“No restraints.” 

Shepard’s feral grin waned, though Garrus knew well enough that disappointment wasn’t the cause. There was wisdom to her gaze that reminded him of conversations they shared over drinks, where the darkness of Omega had crept from the dredges of his glass. Restraints came with too many bad memories, memories he didn’t want coming anywhere close to his intimate moments with Shepard. 

Shepard leaned in and pressed her soft lips to his brow. “No restraints,” she affirmed, not a single trace of argument to her tone.

* * *

Being sprawled naked atop Shepard’s sheets was far from unusual. Hell, this bed has probably supported his naked body more than his hammock in the battery has, but this was a little different. Generally, Shepard was naked with him, not much in the way of waiting involved. Not the case this time.

Shepard had disappeared into the bathroom to change, leaving Garrus in the room to undress and… get into position, at least that's how she put it. She certainly didn't mean taking post in a sniper's nest, so he could only assume that meant the bed. Or maybe it was against the wall? It was probably against the wall. Crap. 

And what should he do with his arms? Folding them over his keel didn't seem right; neither was keeping them straight at his sides. Normally, the 'captive' in the vids was restrained somehow, usually cuffs or ropes.

Experimentally, Garrus reached up over his head and snaked his hands under the pillows at the top of the bed. Maybe if he kept his hands under them, soft reminders that he couldn't touch, they would act as suitable substitutes for the real thing. And now he definitely felt stupid, but time to adjust his positioning escaped him when the bathroom door cycled open. 

Dressed in blue Alliance fatigues and her combat boots, Shepard stepped from the bathroom and stopped at the top of the stairs. Her eyes roved his body, starting at his toes and traveling up his legs to linger at his keel-- she liked his chest and shoulders, he knew-- before finally meeting his gaze, the corner of her mouth quirking.

Oh, this was going to be good.

"Don't know why you're smiling, turian." Shepard shifted her weight to the pillar of her muscular leg and she crossed her arms over her chest. 

Was he smiling? How could he not while being admired by Commander Shepard? His Shepard.

"I don't know about that.” Garrus flicked his mandible, knowing the broadening effect it would have on his aforementioned grin. “I see plenty to smile at right now."

Shepard’s eyes flickered to his hands hidden beneath the fluffy pillows-- uh… his restraints.

“Comfortable?” She asked, slightly lifting a copper brow.

“Very,” he replied, giving his ‘captor’ an unabashed once-over for good measure.

"Good.” Shepard began her descent down the staircase, and he could practically hear his own heartbeat thud in rhythm with the footfalls of her combat boots. “Then you should have no problem telling me about your commanding officer."

"I've had a few."

Shepard traced a finger over his talon-tipped toe, drew her hand up his foot and stopped to swirl her finger idly over his shin. "Don't play coy," she said, her attention on the pattern left by that distracting digit. 

"I wouldn't dream of it… human," he added, feeling a little embarrassed at the slow uptake to this little game of theirs, but Shepard didn’t seem to mind. If anything, her smile grew, a flash of teeth peeking past-- had she painted her lips? They were so much redder than usual. 

"Fine, if that's the game you want to play,” Shepard glanced up from her finger, still twirling maddeningly on his shin, and met his gaze. “I'll play."

In that instant, Garrus decided he liked the color-- crimson as the blood that pumped in her veins. And he knew Shepard well enough to know when her blood was pumping.

Garrus swallowed, steadying his vocals to reply: "As long as it's fair."

"Fair? I don't play fair." That one, swirling finger left his shin to trail upward where five digits fanned to take a light hold of his thigh. Instantly, Garrus’ blood plummeted downward, and he had to take a slow breath. He almost missed it when she repeated her order. "Your commanding officer."

Garrus canted his head, hoping that it conveyed some form of nonchalance even as her hand slowly traveled upward. "Hmm… you'll have to do better than that."

He held his breath-- and his pelvic plates-- as her hand reached his hip. Two fingers explored the crest of his hip and drew slowly downward toward the center. _‘Stay inside, stay inside,’_ he inwardly chanted. An assortment of thoughts ran through his head, anything to distract from her encroaching fingers-- firing algorithms, the Thanix cannon, Executor Pallin-- there that did it, thank the spirits.

Garrus opened his eyes, unsure of when he’d shut them, and found Shepard beaming. It certainly wasn’t the look of some hardened Alliance interrogator, but perhaps at this moment it wasn’t supposed to be.

“Clearly, I do,” she said. The bed dipped slightly as she pressed her knee into the mattress. Her hand mercifully left the range of his pelvic plates, moving upwards to-- spirits, not the waist! Garrus couldn’t help sucking in a breath as she, again, repeated her order.

"I-mmm,” his voice was cut off by an intrusive squeeze. Recovering his resolve, he tried again. “I won't." 

Shepard’s attention dropped to his pelvis to catch his traitorous parting plates. "You will," she promised. 

The bed shifted again as Shepard climbed completely onto the mattress. She meant to throw her leg over his thighs, but paused when the boot’s sole got caught in the sheet. 

“Damn it,” she cursed, removing herself from her attempted position to sit on the edge of the bed. “Time out, sorry.” 

It occurred to him: “Did it scuff the sheets?” 

“Yeah, a little.” Shepard plucked at the white covers to show the black mark left by her boot. Shepard never could keep anything white for long. 

“Okay,” she said, removing her boots and sliding them under the bed. “Where were we?”

“I believe we were moving somewhere down--uh… south.” Garrus rolled his hips slightly, drawing attention to his parted plates, thankfully still working well enough to conceal some of his dignity. 

“Nice try, Big Guy.” Shepard crept back over him, her navy socks sliding easily over his hide to sit either side of his thighs. “I seem to recall moving upwards.” Shepard always was a master of composure when she tried, and the bedroom, apparently, was no different. Garrus hissed when both of her hands grabbed his waist and squeezed.

“The name, turian.” She squeezed again and, spirits, this was good.

“No.”

Those meddlesome hands left his waist, splaying over his chest, giving him a moment to breathe again, but the respite wouldn’t last. After indulging in some exploration of his chest and shoulders-- areas that did little for him physically, but it was certainly nice to feel appreciated-- Shepard caged his head with her arms and bent to draw her tongue up his throat. 

“Spirits,” he keened, feeling her chuckle against the sensitive lining. Tipping his head back, Garrus opened access to his neck and she was quick to make up the ground. Soft lips tickled his hide as her mouth slid up to his chin, biting lightly at the tip of his mandible, making him groan shamelessly and roll his hips up into her, desperate for friction. 

Then that mouth moved beside his aural canal and she asked, “Was that the name?” 

Damn, he loved that voice.

Garrus endeavoured to rewire his short-circuited brain just enough to offer an eloquent answer. “No,” he said, feeling proud of managing at least that much. 

Shepard tsked. “Such a stubborn turian. Or… you’re trying to be. This is definitely telling me something else.” She shot a pointed look at his groin, discovering his length pinned between them, moistening his stomach with his own fluids. 

Then their gazes locked as Shepard’s hand slid down and it was only after pausing for a moment that Garrus recognized the question in her eyes. She wanted permission, waiting for confirmation to continue. He wanted to grab her face and kiss her, but as his talons curled beneath his fluffy restraints, he was reminded of his position. 

“Please,” he said, hearing the edge of desperation cut his voice, but the smirk that lit Shepard’s face chased any shame he might have felt. Then her hand closed around his shaft, and he was no longer able to process much in the way of feelings beyond… _feeling._

With her hand pumping him up and down, she slipped away from his face, trailing kisses along his torso, the presence of her lips lightly marked in crimson upon his tan hide and silver plates. He suspected there was more of that painted around his neck and mandibles.

Down she went, only stopping with her mouth inches from the tip of his shaft. "The name," she repeated, her lips lightly brushing him as she formed the words.

"N-no," he managed, helplessly rolling his hips into her hand to punctate each word of his response. "I. Won't. Tell. You."

Then her mouth joined her hands and-- fuck it, he couldn’t take it anymore. 

Abandoning his position, Garrus yanked his hands out from underneath the pillows, grabbed Shepard by the shoulders, and flipped her underneath him. He pinned her arms above her head with one hand and trapped her between his thighs, his length resting lightly on her belly. 

Bending down to lick a trail up her neck, he paused to nip lightly at her earlobe. “You want to know about my commanding officer?”

Shepard turned her face, meeting him with a fire in her eyes that threatened to consume him. “Yes,” she whispered, tone laced with an equal mixture of authority and want. 

“She drives me insane.” He slid a hand down to unfasten the button at the top of her pants. Then he withdrew only long enough to hook his thumbs in the waistband and pull them down, underwear and all. “A wicked shot. I’d say _almost_ as good as me.” 

Fiery hair fanned across the white bed sheets as Shepard tilted her head back and laughed, kicking her pants away as they crumpled around her ankles. Now there was nothing between them. 

“Terrible driver, though,” he continued as he crept back up her writhing body, reveling in the softness of exposed skin against his hide. That remark earned him a glare. Shepard opened her mouth, undoubtedly ready with a barb on her tongue, but it faded in a gasp as Garrus slid a hand between her thighs, unsurprised but no less thankful to feel the wetness that had gathered there. Wetness for him. 

“I can’t get her out of my head.”

“Is that so?” Her breath hitched as he brushed the ridges of his shaft along her soft folds.

“Mm-hm.” Determined not to waste any more time, he positioned himself between her legs and began the familiar slow, even push. Dropping his face into her neck, he could feel as well as hear her moan as he entered her. It was always a somewhat slow process, allowing her time to accommodate him with small, light thrusts, but spirits, she always felt amazing. “Practically leaves me breathless at times.”

Shepard wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed-- the usual signal to speed up. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, snapping his hips into her. “And she’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met.” 

“Garrus!” she cried, rolling her hips up to meet his thrusts. 

“Shepard,” he echoed, winding his fingers into her copper tresses before kissing her, lightly at first but when she sighed, they lost themselves in each other. Her hands traveled beneath his fringe and to his waist while he found his way up the shirt that she still wore. With practiced movements, his thumb found a rosy peak through the fabric that bound her breasts, and he brushed it lightly, loving the sounds she made.

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded. He wouldn’t and when he felt her tighten around him, he grabbed her face again and kissed her again, sharing breath as they shattered together. 

Panting, they lay tangled and sweaty in the sheets, grounded by the weight of the other, simultaneously fragmented and infrangible. Here, in Shepard’s arms, he was safe. As his senses slowly sharpened from the frayed cloud they were reduced to, he became increasingly aware of the thumb tracing his mandible. 

Garrus lifted his head from the pillow that was Shepard’s chest and found her watching him, a soft, lazy grin adorning her face. Her cheeks were red, the paint on her lips slightly smudged. Spirits, she was gorgeous, he should probably tell her so. 

“I’d say that went well,” he said instead. 

Shepard huffed a laugh. “Me too, though you make a terrible captive, I must say.” 

“We all have our weaknesses.” Garrus returned his head to Shepard’s chest, listening to the beat of her heart while he gathered the strength to move again. 

“So,” Shepard began, lazily running her hands along his fringe, a habit that he sincerely hoped would never fade. “Breathtaking, huh?”


End file.
